


arms spread wide, teeth bared to the world

by hori (renanoir)



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Ahiru still does ballet, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fakir is a writer, No Smut, Uzura is fakir's little sister, ahiru is an idiot in love, caring big brother we stan, fakir is a prick in love, no drosselmeyer because ew, their parents are dead tho, they're aged up to fit the au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 12:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30004755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renanoir/pseuds/hori
Summary: when ahiru runs and leaps and crashes - a radiant smile on her lips with cheeks tinted rose - that's when his composure breaks.he swears she's made of stars and planets and moons and galaxies, and he's smiling - smiling to the point of tears.
Relationships: Ahiru | Duck/Fakir (Princess Tutu), Mytho/Rue (Princess Tutu)
Kudos: 4





	arms spread wide, teeth bared to the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i've been working on this since november wow how time flies

The first mouthfuls of evening drape themselves like a peaceful blanket over Gold Crown Town.

Artistic splotches of violet and blue hang under Fakir's eyes, where his unholy insomnia bleeds out of. Annoyance is written into the perpetual curl of his lips and he loudly clicks his tongue. Every corner of his body seems laced with fatigue, his shoulders lump and joints stiff.

It's another unproductive day of work for him, a popular novelist, who didn't even bring a single word on paper today. A growing sense of trepidation blossoms in his chest. Fakir couldn’t keep his mind from searing with frustration, it comes and goes in waves, the ebb and flow in his usually creative mind. With knuckles bleached ivory and almost bleeding from the force of his fingers curled into fists,  _ this is gradual insanity _ , is what he's thinking.

There's a deadline. Of course there is.

Bracing his back against his wooden chair, he watched the empty  _ word _ document as if hoping it would write itself. Verdant orbs glaring, his body tense, anger bladed between his teeth; Fakir looks absolutely and undoubtedly  _ miserable _ . His frustration seeths, it grows steadily and he swears there's something like a faint rhythm to it.

_ I could dance a pas-de-deux to the melody of my unwritten words. _

Fakir abruptly rises with his hands slammed onto the sanded mahogany desk. He strides over to the window and rips it open rather forcefully. As the cold autumnal breeze collides with his anger-contorted face, it's like he's slapped wide awake. Realization hits him at once as he takes in the night sky;  _ the time _ . Incandescent, luminous little stars shine radiantly in the midnight blue hued firmament while the moon is lustrously floating in the distance.

He bleeds himself dry on drunken planets and supernovas.

In the hollow of his lungs he knows all of this leads to nothing. His ideas left him, travelled to a place farther than anyone can ever imagine, he's all alone in his room in the middle of the night. Trapped inside these four walls closing in on him, he remains silent. Even if he screamed – his voice would end up being unheard. The moonlight aches on his old bones.

The door connecting his room with the hallway creaks open, revealing a soft tuft of mint hair attached to the toddler living with him. Her rosy lips are forming a pout as her large ocean eyes glint up at Fakir. His little sister  _ absolutely  _ shouldn’t be up at this hour. 

“Uzura, why are you awake? Go back to sleep,” he whispers, his usual bitter expression turning tender at the sight of her.

“Big brother upset, that’s why,” the small girl replies, strolling over to where Fakir’s positioned by the window. A sigh escapes him and he’s bringing his thumb and index finger to the bridge of his nose. He gently pats Uzura’s small head with his free hand before picking her up to his chest.

“Spend more time with Uzura,” she begins, “you’re always here alone.”

“That’s because I have important work to do.”

“More important than Uzura?”

He doesn’t reply immediately. “No, but we need money. So I’m working here, yeah? We can do something together once I’m done, I promise.” 

“Big brother always says that.”

He knows it’s an empty promise. Locking his jaw, Fakir looks away and thinks, thinks, thinks. It’s an unpleasant truth that pierces his heart; he has promised to spend more time with his little sister countless times and has broken the same promise over and over again with a tightened chest and a return to his room. It’s not that he doesn’t  _ want  _ to be with her, it’s that he  _ can’t _ . Fakir’s a successful writer who can live from his passion, granted he’s finishing his works and turns them in on time. But lately it’s getting harder and harder to write at all. He’s been vacuumed empty and dry, turned into a mindless slave to his profession. He has to provide for himself and Uzura ever since their parents left them behind, all alone and without proper guidance. It’s days like this where he wishes no one survived the car crash on the way home. Where instead of having to see his parents’ corpses, they all could have seen the afterlife  _ together _ . Where instead of having to raise Uzura all by himself, there’d be a loving mother and father taking care of their beloved children. Where instead of being  _ piss poor _ , their little family would have a stable income and no financial worries ever again. 

He doubts that if their parents were still alive, they could have provided for both of their own needs and those of their children. Part of his anger was denial. Part of it was pride. Another part of it was arrogance.

Peeking down at the only family that’s left, his heart leaps and fills with the warmest shade of love. A small smile rises. It’s also days like this where he’s grateful he’s survived, grateful Uzura’s survived, thankful he’s able to hold her fragile body with his rough hands. Holding the sun in his arms doesn’t burn at all. It’s the gentlest heat keeping his heart and blood warm. 

Noticing she’s fallen asleep again, he cradles her close to his chest just a while longer.

  
  
  
  


//

  
  
  
  


There are a few things Ahiru knows by rote. The cacophony of the audience watching her every move; her seraphim judges as if she were on heavenly trial, their dark eyes narrowed and expressions monochrome. The mechanical clapping of cold hands, like a reflex. They see right through her.

She knows the searing pain that spreads from the tip of her toe to her ankles, the dizziness occupying her head from moving in pirouettes, ginger locks sticking to her face bathed in sweat. She knows it all too well.

She remembers the harsh words thrown at her,  _ you have no talent, give up on ballet already _ or  _ en pointe is impossible for you _ . They play on repeat in her mind like a sick melody she dances to; they echo between her ears when she looks at the forget-me-not colored bruises blossoming on her feet, but they're the loudest when she performs.

The first thing Ahiru does after practice ends is to change her clothes and head to the bus stop located near the ballet school. The second thing she does - after hopping on the bus - is to dig out the novel she’s currently reading from her duffel bag and drown out the world around her. It’s a special book, she claims, because it’s  _ Lohengrin _ ’s most recent one. Her favorite author, a man lacking a face, has been with her for almost three years now. It wasn’t  _ her  _ who discovered his books - it was  _ him and his books  _ which discovered  _ her _ . Or so she thinks.

With the scent of a new book that’s lingering between the pages filling her nose, she’s lost herself once again in his works; a deep dive into a fantasy world filled to the brim with adventures and mystical creatures threatening to spill out and come alive. She’s inhaling the words right off the pages like they’re oxygen and she’s about to asphyxiate. 

Ahiru doesn’t notice how the bus gets gradually emptier and emptier as more and more passengers leave, how she’s already missed her own stop until the bus driver’s tired, raspy voice announces the next stop as their final destination. 

Her bluebell eyes widen in realization.  _ This is bad. Really, really bad. _ After mentally reprimanding herself - a habit she wanted to let go of - Ahiru comes to the conclusion that she doesn’t have a choice and needs to get off at the next stop. 

And that’s exactly what she does. It’s a part of town she doesn’t recognize and she feels how her anxiety begins to creep up her legs and arms and chest and neck like venomous snakes eager to bite.

_ Just my luck. _

The early dusk paints the sky in a palette of fiery tangerine and sapphire. A heavy silence lingers in the air as Ahiru notices she’s alone. Venetian blinds are closed and doors locked, the people who live here are sending a clear message:  _ don’t bother us at this time. _

She sighs for the nth time this day. Clutching her duffel bag just a bit tighter to her body, she begins walking in a seemingly random direction. She’s uneasy, this part of town’s eerily quiet and empty except for the few stray cats scurrying around. 

_ Calm down _ , she tells herself, _ this is normal. It’s just your stupid anxiety. Whoever lives here just goes to sleep early. _

Bruised feet carry her through a few more alleys until Ahiru discovers a small lantern-lit park. Deciding that she’s exhausted herself enough for today, she begins to rest on the first bench she spots. The calm evening breeze fills her lungs as Ahiru visibly relaxes; arms and legs outstretched in every direction. Yet the silence remains deafening - she’s used to auditoriums bursting with an assortment of people. Loud people. Obnoxious people. 

\- When she hears the bushes rustling amidst the quiet her first instinct is to run. 

What crawls out of them is not some sort of serial killer or whatever monster Ahiru’s anxiety ridden brain was beginning to fabricate, no. There’s a child in front of her. Or, rather a toddler. 

  
  


“Miss?”

The ballerina blinks a couple of times.

“Uh…”, the toddler begins, “Miss?”

Judging by the look the child is giving her, Ahiru must have been grimacing. She quickly tries her hardest to smile, pretending to not have been frightened to death by this innocent infant a few seconds ago. Or minutes. How long has she been glaring this child down?

But before the Ahiru is able to utter a reply, the bushes rustle once again. This time a young adult appears, wearing a worried frown. 

“There you are, Uzura.”

The man picks up the toddler, taking a few steps in Ahiru’s direction, who in return takes a few steps back herself. 

The stranger looks rather intimidating to her, now that she’s able to get a proper look at him since his face is being illuminated by the warm hues of the lantern. He has sharp features and dark hair which seems to be tied in a low ponytail, with eyes of the same color glaring down at her. Ahiru also notices a slight tan on his arm where the sleeves of his black sweater are rolled up. 

“When you’re done checking me out,” a pleasantly deep voice speaks, “care to tell me what you’re doing here at this time?”

It takes the young woman several moments to notice that the man’s been addressing her. A faint rose color finds its place on her usually pale cheeks. 

“I-I got lost,” she stammers out, “and why are y-you here, then? I could ask you the same thing, you know!”

The ~~good-looking~~ stranger huffs in reply. “It doesn’t concern you.”

“Big bro is spending time with Uzura!” the child squeaks, earning a scowl from her older brother. 

“At this hour?” Ahiru asks, confused.  _ Who spends time with their baby sibling at nightfall alone in a park? This guy apparently. _

“I’m very busy all day long. I got lucky to spare some time right now,” the strange man answers, “but we should head back now. Right, Uzura?”

There’s no reply from the toddler though, as she has fallen asleep in her brother’s arms. 

He starts to turn around, but Ahiru stops him, and his frown only deepens. 

“Please, can you tell me where we are? L-like I said, I’m really lost,” she explains, “do you know if there’s a bus I could take? How do I get back to-”

“God, do you ever shut up? At this point, you’ll wake up Uzura with your squeaky voice,” the young man interrupts her, his tone laced with annoyance.

So Ahiru does what she does best - apologizing. Profusely.

The male sighs, perhaps a bit too dramatically. “I’m Fakir. Now listen closely and don’t freak out, okay? There are no buses at this hour.”

Ahiru’s face falls and Fakir sighs again.

“It’s too late to walk you home, so I’ll let you spend the night at my house, so-”

“WHAT?” the echo of her shrill voice bounces around the empty park. Before she can open her mouth again, Fakir interrupts her for the second time this evening,

“Look, I know how this sounds. But I won’t let you walk around alone, it’s dangerous. My place is close. You either accept, or you’re sleeping on this bench right here,” he points behind her as to emphasize his point, “what will it be? You decide.”

  
  


The way he’s carefully cradling the small child in his arms, afraid to disturb her sleep, how his piercing eyes soften ever so gently when he looks at his sister - Ahiru thinks she can trust him. He looks more annoyed than angry and she can tell he’s not in any mood to argue right now. 

Biting the inside of her cheek, she looks him in the eyes and accepts his offer, hoping she won’t come to regret it. 


End file.
